


Family Holiday, 1989

by peterarkadywiggin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Between the Wizarding Wars, Doing one's best to live up to expectations, Durmstrang, Gen, Passive-Aggressive Snape, Poorly planned vacations, Sad monsters, thinking about murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterarkadywiggin/pseuds/peterarkadywiggin
Summary: Lucius Malfoy, his family, and Severus pay a visit to an old friend.





	Family Holiday, 1989

Lucius Malfoy was not the sort of man to lie to his wife, and for his son he performed the gentle lies of childhood only with great reluctance. Yet it was obvious that Narcissa and Draco still believed that they would be leaving for northern Russia in two days for an ordinary (if brief) summer holiday, accompanied by their old friends Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff. Lucius had distracted both of them by focusing on telling Draco about the Durmstrang boys and their undefeated Quidditch team, which naturally Draco found enthralling. He and Narcissa had amused themselves by half-mocking, half-flattering their son’s great confidence in his future prowess, and they had not discussed the trip much further. 

Narcissa had probably been suspicious ever since Lucius mentioned that they would not be receiving any letters in the North, and so would need no messenger or long-distance owls. She hadn’t protested. Lucius had chosen to see nothing in her silence that night, — but this strategy had never fared well for him before.  
Now, it was an unusually hot July afternoon, and nine-year-old Draco was very seriously racing Blaise Zabini on his silver toy broom, disturbing the peacocks’ stride as they zigzagged back and forth through the garden. Zabini was by far the more reckless of the two, grazing tree branches with his ears as he attempted loops and rolls. Was that boy’s mother on her fourth or fifth husband now? Lucius would have to get up from disdainfully skimming the Prophet if they came any closer to hitting the toddling chicks. He didn’t want to do that, so he opened a window in the glass wall of the conservatory and called out to them:

“Draco! Blaise! Get in here this instant.”

Draco reacted first, leaping from his broom and reluctantly approaching the window. “Father, what is it?” His hair, as white as a unicorn’s mane, was so windswept from flying it might have been hexed to stand on end. 

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “You mustn’t fly so low. Blaise, get off your broom.” Blaise begrudgingly obeyed, sulking against a statue. 

“Father —” Draco whined. “It isn’t time to come in for lessons yet.” 

“This is why you can’t have a real broom until your birthday. You’re going to knock some statue’s head off, or your own. We can’t take you to Durmstrang headless, you know.” 

“Hey!” Blaise interjected. “That’s not supposed to be until you’re eleven.”

“Some boys are more mature for their age,” said Lucius. He watched contentedly as Draco smiled. “Now, both of you should come in for tea, shouldn’t you.”

When Lucius turned around, Narcissa was standing in the center of the conservatory, Severus following close behind. As the boys stomped off to hunt down Dobby, Narcissa’s gaze hardened.

After several seconds, she cleared her throat. “Severus informed me that he plans to bring all of his potion-making equipment on holiday. And his full collection of antidotes. Would you care to explain?” 

“Cissy—” Lucius hesitated, lowering his voice. “You know how long it’s been since Karkaroff left. I may have no better chance to negotiate this with him.”

“You’re not negotiating anything. He took his position to be as far away as possible from his life with us. Severus will never forgive him. I barely do.” Narcissa adjusted her skirt and perched stiffly on the divan. “You won’t win him over.”

“He already said he’s prepared to fulfill a promise he made me. We’ll see how far I can push him,” said Lucius steadily.

“Karkaroff owes you nothing.” Narcissa folded her arms. “Let him go, like you let me go. I’m sure he wants to live his quiet life just as much as I want to raise Draco in peace. Really, I don't know if we should go to him at all. Certainly Severus has no reason to trust him, why should we?”

Lucius leaned toward her, glancing quickly at Severus. “None of this is your decision to make.”

“It’s not yours, either. You might as well start introducing yourself as the Dark Lord’s heir,” Narcissa hissed.

Lucius stood back. “If you ever say that again—” 

“I expect you planned to tell me your intentions once Karkaroff enters the conversation and I’m outnumbered,” Narcissa pressed on.

“You’re outnumbered already,” muttered Severus.

“You and Draco won’t be involved,” said Lucius, controlling his temper.

“And what are we not to be involved in?”

Severus examined his long fingernails. The room fell silent except for the screeches of two peacocks sparring in the woods. “Killing the Minister and her Muggle husband,” he said quietly.

Narcissa nodded slowly, and Lucius realized that there had been no need for deception. He knew that Narcissa’s mind constantly overflowed with one thought: Bellatrix is in Azkaban, by the Minister’s orders. Lucius looked into her eyes, and in that moment he saw a trace of her sister’s madness.

* * * * 

The four travelers had no choice but to use the Floo Network, though Lucius had always despised it; with Draco so young, Apparition was out of the question. Since not every Floo building was connected to every other, especially across national borders, they had to shout themselves into appearing in fire after shabby fire before finally reaching their destination. When they arrived, Karkaroff and his very tall wife Maria began to embrace them. Lucius complained that it was rather undignified to have to brush off the soot of seven different hearths. 

Karkaroff’s house looked to be about three-quarters the size of Malfoy Manor, but far more ostentatious in the way that many Russian wizards preferred: draped in deep reds, blues, and violets, with hundreds of rapidly-moving exotic beasts sculpted in gold. Draco reached out to touch a tiny hippogriff and it nipped off the tip of his fingernail. Narcissa scolded him.

“You look so different, Severus,” said Karkaroff suddenly, with a strange smile. His accent was somehow thicker than ever, and his dense black velvet robes contrasted sharply with the flourishes of color that surrounded him. “How is Hogwarts?”

“I would say the students are hardly up to my expectations, but it’s been — peaceful, I suppose.” Severus was a bit thinner now, and had let his hair grow a bit longer, but to Lucius he hadn’t aged much.

“Good, good.” Karkaroff hesitated, a flash of fear crossing his face as he avoided Severus’ gaze. “That’s very good to hear. Maria, get my key.” 

Maria diligently returned with an egg-shaped box that she placed firmly in Lucius’ hand. “For you to hold,” she said.

“Thank you, Karkaroff,” said Lucius. He unhinged the egg and removed what appeared to be a skeleton key on a narrow gold chain. 

“Carry it with you,” said Karkaroff forcefully, holding a hand over his heart. Lucius pulled the chain down over his head and hair. He tucked the key into his robes so that the cold enchanted metal lay against his skin. Karkaroff nodded when he did this, whispering to Lucius, “Until the third day.”

According to the schedule Severus had written for the four of them, today they would all go to visit the Durmstrang grounds first, so Draco wouldn’t cause any mischief due to his intense anticipation. Lucius did not expect any reduction in mischief, but he allowed Severus his methods. The second day was designated for shopping. And the third day, as Karkaroff had warned him, was for brewing the poison that leaves no trace.

* * * * 

The village that surrounded Durmstrang was always welcoming despite Lucius’ limited grasp of the Russian language. It was among the oldest and purest wizarding enclaves in all of Europe, and in his darker moments Lucius often imagined recklessly Apparating there and finding himself a secluded riverside property. Back in Wiltshire, he occasionally had to set up protective enchantments against the bug-eyed Muggles who inanely shouted and battered at the Manor gates, trying to lure his birds or worse. Karkaroff and his neighbors, on the other hand, never had to put any effort into maintaining the village’s reputation. There was no word like “muggle-born” in Russian; nothing so nauseatingly diplomatic, at least. 

Another benefit of the village, in Lucius’ view, was the level of privacy that its residents afforded one another. Those who understood Dark magic also understood the necessity of secrets, and it was a comfort to live among the like-minded. It had probably been easy for Karkaroff to obtain the keys he and Lucius now wore around their necks, though they were illegal in almost all of Europe; a safeguard of two days’ trust between the keys’ bearers was required before they could be used.  
Karkaroff’s locked room was far deeper into the earth than any dungeon Lucius had ever seen, and the Manor’s dungeon nearly reached the bedrock. Severus seemed unfazed by the depth, walking between Karkaroff and Lucius without saying a word. Karkaroff’s most powerful Dark article, the preserved venom of the infamous bagyennik, was so deadly that it required several dozen layers of magical shielding, which Karkaroff opened and closed behind them every few steps. Lucius had envisioned the venom’s power over and over in his mind: a stray droplet touching the hideous Minister’s lips and instantly sprouting a tiny flame that slowly grows to envelop her entire body, leaving neither ash nor magical traces behind. No one could be suspected, not even if one of their wands were found. It would be humiliating, excruciating pain — then nothing.

When the three men reached the locked room, Lucius opened the door slowly to find it pitch black. A low, inhuman cry reverberated through the walls.

“What was that?” Lucius shouted at a somewhat undignified pitch.

“That is the bagyennik,” said Karkaroff. 

“It hasn’t been extracted?” said Lucius fearfully.

Severus cast Lumos and the beast came into view—a horse-like creature with massive nostrils and crooked limbs, coated in blue-green slime, sprawling against a bloodstained wall twenty feet away. It was chained to a set of metal bars that spanned the ceiling, and its eyes bulged wetly as it bellowed. Karkaroff audibly held his breath, and Lucius instinctively raised his wand. Severus looked at Lucius, then at the writhing bagyennik, with steady disdain. “Clearly it hasn’t been extracted yet. The venom has to be mixed into the solution immediately after the bagyennik attacks, or it becomes inert within seconds—”

“Are you certain, Severus?”

“I am.” Severus drew his wand quickly.

Karkaroff had to raise his voice over the bagyennik’s growing cry. “When it jumps forward, run to the steps as you immobilize the venom!”

Lucius, being reasonable, immediately ran to the steps along with Karkaroff as soon as the beast’s arms began to twitch. Severus didn’t move. “GET BACK!” Lucius shouted.

When the bagyennik’s venom began to spurt unevenly from its nostrils, Severus ran toward it, wand raised. Lucius rushed to pull Severus’ arm back from the splash of thick, colorless venom, but it was already suspended in the air, glistening several inches from Severus’ fingertips. All three of them were suddenly faint with relief, breathing heavily against the wall opposite the exhausted creature.

“It has to be close to the source to be sure that it’s fully lethal,” said Severus after a pause. He then calmly put on his dragonhide gloves and raised his wand again, floating the streams of poison into a large, half-filled vial of green liquid. The potion inside glowed white as the venom dissolved, then settled on a bright chartreuse. Karkaroff never took his eyes away from the vial. 

Severus looked at Karkaroff tiredly. “There is a small chance the poison will fail.”

Lucius took a deep breath. “Even at this stage?”

“Yes. Our intended subjects can’t be our first trial,” said Severus. “Obviously. It’s possible the potion will not be fatal, or that it will be easily traced. Its Dark magic could be too powerful even on its own, and that would immediately raise suspicions.”

“And you would take the blame,” said Lucius.

Severus looked from Karkaroff to Lucius and back. “I already made that choice, Lucius.”

“Well, we don’t have the option of spare victims.” said Lucius.

“We do if they’re non-human. No matter how much Dark magic is used, there is no danger to us if we destroy a beast.” Severus held the thick vial in both hands, swirling it to watch its color shift between green and yellow. 

“You mean me, don’t you?” Karkaroff said hoarsely. “I am the one to be destroyed.”

Severus said nothing.

Lucius was taken aback. “You, Karkaroff?”

“Now I know what you meant by all of this. It was never truly the Minister who sent them all to Azkaban,” said Karkaroff with a growing tremor in his voice. “It was I.”

“No,” said Lucius, advancing. “All of those last days are immaterial. You can return. Everyone can return.”

“I should have been brave like you, Lucius. I should have had a story, a lie, said it was Imperius...all illusion. That I was operating under threat of death, anything but ruining so many of us because I feared Azkaban.” 

Severus’ jaw set. “He isn’t wrong.” 

A pause. “We all feared Azkaban,” said Lucius.

“I gave her your names, you know this. I gave her so many names…” Karkaroff stared into the exhausted eyes of the bagyennik, then at the poison vial. “I’m the one you should take. If I were you, Severus, I would have done it long ago.”

* * * * 

Narcissa was the most disappointed when Severus finally decided to report that the poison’s magic was too powerful to go undetected when killing a rabbit, let alone an adult witch or wizard, and that it had to be destroyed. She said nothing at first, but the pain and anger overwhelmed her all night, and for many nights after that.  
Lucius also knew that Draco wanted answers. About why they couldn’t stay at Karkaroff’s house anymore, why they all fell silent when he started carrying on about going to Durmstrang and becoming just like whichever great Dark wizard or famous Seeker came to mind. But these were the unavoidable sort of lies.

* * * * 

Lucius returned to the Manor in a cold silence that was certainly not improved by Narcissa’s and Draco’s bitterness. He felt as if they had brought the Northern chill back with them, and as the day passed it pervaded every room, even the sunlit study to which he now confined himself. It was probably far worse for Severus, alone in his miserable little row house. In a week, Lucius would visit him — after nearly ten years, he knew the proper waiting period. 

The sight of a neatly stacked pile of letters, over two dozen in total, was more gratifying than Lucius could have expected. He loosened the wrappings of red twine that Dobby had tied around the bundle, and a broad, square envelope slipped out. It was addressed in a jittering hand that could only belong to his moderately ancient friend Marcellus Nott. As Lucius circled Nott’s seal with a finger, the flaps of the envelope elegantly receded, creasing themselves into a neat snakelike coil. The letter itself, which had clearly been scribbled in haste, flattened itself on the desk. 

Nott had apparently overheard reports of several cases of underage magic that the Ministry was deliberately ignoring, and they were getting more and more out of the ordinary: permanent charms seemingly performed in anger or revenge, bursts of flame, even a successful Apparition. These were all signs of latent Dark magic ability, and they were stronger than anything Lucius had ever witnessed in Draco — or himself at that age, he mused bitterly.

It was, of course, the Boy Who Lived. Nott seemed shocked by this revelation; Lucius was not. Rendering oneself invulnerable to the Killing Curse was a seemingly impossible feat, one that Lucius initially considered a false rumor designed to discredit the Dark Lord. He’d been disgusted at how laughable the circumstances sounded: death at the hands of a half-blood infant.

But it was the truth, no matter how cruel. Lucius spent the rest of the evening trying to write a letter to Nott, but his thoughts swirled faster than his quill. If anyone could one day call himself the heir of the Dark Lord, it would be this boy. With the proper training, the proper influences, it could be done. 

The Boy Who Lived would be their last chance, their savior. The only poison they would ever need.


End file.
